Welcome to Survival of the Fittest, a RPing board loosely based off of Koshun Takami's Battle Royale, with its own unique plot and spin on the 'deadly game'. We've been around quite a while, and are now in our thirteenth year, so don't worry about us going anywhere any time soon!

If you're a newcomer and interested in joining, then please make sure you check out the rules. You may also want to read the FAQ, introduce yourself and stop by the chat to meet some of our members. If you're still not quite sure where to start, then we have a great New Member's Guide with a lot of useful information about getting going. Don't hesitate to PM a member of staff (they have purple usernames) if you have any questions about SOTF and how to get started!

It had taken him longer than it should have. Ever since he’d left Enzo he’d been putting off making the trip to the bridge, even though it had been sitting in the back of his mind since that conversation had ended, the decision made. This was the only way he could have any control anymore.

He knew why he’d been procrastinating: this was wrong. He’d always been told that this wasn’t the solution, that it was a sin, and he’d never even thought about it before all this. He still never wanted to do it, but what option did he have? Choice wasn’t a luxury he had any more.

In the end, this island got everyone. It got Henry, it got Alvaro, it got Nancy, and now it was going to get him. At least he hadn’t had to watch it happen to anyone. Thank God for small blessings.

He swallowed, for the upteempth time. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t shake, even though he knew this was what he had to do. It was wrong, and he didn’t want to do it, but he had to. That's what he kept telling himself.

His weak footsteps tracked along the bridge, as he looked out to the side. He wanted to get closer to the middle, away from the edges, which seemed like the right way to do it. He didn’t know the first thing about doing this right, and he would’ve been glad for that at any other time, but now that seemed moot. It was too long a drop down to not work, anyway.

He pulled his gaze away from his feet on the road, looking forward for the last time, and caught sight of Hazel and Jordan.

He swallowed again. He didn’t want this. He just wanted to die alone, and get it over with.

He could barely hear the others over the horrible storm of his screaming thoughts and the rapid gasps for air between the sobs. If he wasn’t so self-conscious of how horribly humiliating this all was, he might have even forgotten they were there.

Why? He just came up here to end it all, so why did he have to keep pretending? How was he supposed to do that? What was he supposed to say to Jordan and Hazel now? Even now, in his final moments, he still had to make himself look like a complete spaz loser.

His head was swimming in circles, his legs growing weak, breath leaving him, as if he was drowning in his own tears. Just as he was about to black out from it all, he felt Hazel’s hands grasp his, her head pressing against his own. Suddenly, he was anchored.

His breathing started to steady, if still rapid and shallow. He stopped trying to word empty apologies, even if he was thinking them over and over and over. He needed Hazel so much right now, someone to tether him away from the all-consuming that he was trying to dive into. He needed someone to stop him.

“I just, I just-“ he whimpered, pressing back into Hazel’s head with his own as if it would make any difference. He had to confess.

Jordan and Hazel’s pleas were falling on deaf ears, as much as Nate wished otherwise.

He knew it wasn’t ok, he knew they couldn’t stay together. Even if he left with them now, someone would come along and try to kill them, and he’d probably leave them high and dry because he was such a coward. Even if he didn’t, whoever had come along, probably a friend, would just kill him and it’d be over anyway.

And a rescue? It had been six days already; if a rescue was coming, wouldn’t one have by now? How many of these things even ended in rescue? It was a nice thought, but nice thoughts hadn’t done him any good until now, and now he was at the brink of suicide. It didn’t seem like he’d ever think a nice thought ever again.

He kept holding Hazel’s hands, still sobbing, but just a bit quieter as he tired out. His throat was growing hoarse, and his eyes were turning red and sore again, both made sensitive by the days of tears.

“It’s – it’s no good. We’re all going to die, or start killing each other. I just don't want to do it anymore.”

Nate could feel Hazel squeezing his hands, hard, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. None of it was helping, and none of it would make a difference. Her words continued to go unheard, as Nate sunk further into his despair.

When she started to lead him away, the way a parent might lead a lost child, he didn’t resist, or respond. His legs just moved of their own accord, letting himself be pulled away from the bridge, away from the death that would at least be his, and towards whatever unknown end awaited him instead.